Tag Archives: London

Her hair is clipped up in the way women know will make them look professional five minutes after blow drying it half way. Her chatter swirls around the bored, slightly annoyed granddaughter, the stressed-out-but-having-fun-if-it-kills-her mother, and the grandmother blissfully unaware she seems to be the cause of the annoyance and stress.

She wears a name badge identifying her as the employee of a guided vacation service. During our London Eye adventure, she points out landmarks and snaps pictures for everyone like she’s the tour guide assigned to our entire capsule. I overhear her mention a Subway nearby and, as we exit our capsule, I ask her about the directions. She practically grabs my arm.

“I’m heading that way myself!” she says cheerily. “I’ll show you!”
We haven’t passed the people still in line before she confesses, “I just had to get away from my group! They’re driving me crazy!” and laughs long into the London sunshine.
She stands with me while I wolf down my sandwich, which is balanced on a stone wall because there are no tables available. All she wants is a large Coke and a cigarette.

I say aloud I don’t think I could do her job. I’m really thinking that gouging out my own eye with a steak knife sounds more appealing than taking ten complete strangers on vacation.
She asks me if she’d like South Asia. “I don’t like crowds,” she says suspiciously. “Or heat.”
“Maybe if you went with a good tour group,” I’m skeptical. “In the winter… As long as you don’t mind a little by-the-seat-of-your-pants sort of adventuring.”
“Maybe if I went with a really good tour group,” she offers.

***

I’ve been disappointed before with how my favorite South Asian food comes out when I cook it in the US. It tends to taste like a little something’s missing and I think I’ve figured out what it is. Road dust. Don’t laugh, I’m serious. Road dust.

Picking out vegetables in the grocery store yesterday, I couldn’t help but notice how little road dust there was on the vegetables. Understandable, I guess, since these veggies hadn’t been pushed up and down streets on open, flatbed wagons.

For much of London and the US so far, I’ve been waiting for something to go wrong. Like the tickets I pre-bought for London attractions to be fake or my flights to be delayed or even someone to cut in front of me in the line at the grocery store. But everything has gone eerily smoothly. It’s unsettling.

And there’s no road dust anywhere.

***

I wish I could change my answer to that tour guide woman. I wish I could tell her, now, that I miss the road dust. And that when I say that, I don’t mean I miss having to clean my entire house every day or my fingernails being all black underneath an hour after I showered.

I’d tell her I miss the road dust that swirls when you fly by the seat of your pants.

The road dust collected on unexpected adventures aboard public transportation.

The road dust scattering around two strangers sharing a bonding moment over something crazy happening in the street.

The road dust wiped off of chai cups to welcome an unexpected guest.

The road dust tracked in by weary friends looking for a listening ear.

The road dust of a thousand things that seemed to go wrong before turning out to be surprisingly lovely.

The road dust on the vegetables that add a little extra yumminess to an otherwise perfectly good bowl of food.

Approaching Westminster Cathedral, I prepare myself to dwell on thoughts of God’s greatness. That’s what cathedrals were designed to do – draw eyes upward, aid human minds in their contemplation of the impossibly eternal. But as I step under the watchful eyes of stone apostles, my mind fades to silent.

Later I will whisper a tearful “thank you” to William Wilberforce’s likeness in Westminster Abbey or, standing over David Livingstone’s grave, feel as though members of the great cloud of witnesses are suddenly drawing oxygen right next to me.

Tomorrow, I will be at St. Paul’s Cathedral and feel my entire being still at the rich, divine sounds of the sung liturgy in the afternoon evensong service. Sounded something like this:

But here, in Westminster Cathedral, I slip into the service without knowing what to think. I feel I am not enough to be here, to understand the beauty of the liturgy, the mass, imagery and symbolism wrapped up in every delicate, deliberate detail. You’re supposed to feel God’s bigness in a Cathedral – His immensity. I also feel my smallness, the delicateness of the breath moving in and out of my body. Now caught in my throat, now joining others’ in the singing of our responses.

Lord, hear our prayer.

Lord, have mercy.

Then a meditation on Jesus’ words from the Gospel reading.

Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him.

And the one speaking tells us that we who believe, we who participate in Jesus’ flesh and blood, we abide in Christ. And – shockingly! – Christ lives in us. All of His goodness, His righteousness, His love, His mercy breathing out through us.

The King – in whose honor this breathtaking cathedral was built…

The King – whose name and power upholds every magnificent story painted on these walls…

I was recently complaining noting to my mom that my life is currently made up of lists, plans, and schedules for the future. I’m preparing to leave the South Asian city I call home and head back to the US. Preparing, to me, means lists. Lists of people to see and places to go; lists of gifts to take and things from here I won’t be able to get in the US (hair oil, check. chai, check.). Each list carefully laid out in Excel, specially color coded in fonts that look like handwriting.

I’m excited to be with the family and friends I haven’t seen in two years. Goodness! Two years. Think of all the things that change in that amount of time – and I’m not just talking a few extra pounds and a couple more grey hairs! Births, deaths, moves, lessons learned and hurts endured. Some friends have kept me updated, many have not, and I feel like I’m in for as steep a learning curve as when I first arrived in South Asia!

So while my preparatory lists continue to multiply themselves, I’m building other lists in the back of my mind. Lists like “Embarrassing Things I Will Probably Do” while re-adjusting to the States.

For example: I’m fairly certain I’m going to blow it in the whole finger-food decision moment. Nearly everything here in South Asia can be eaten with your fingers. I’ve even seen soup eaten expertly (and surprisingly neatly!) with nothing but roti and fingers. I now feel completely comfortable simply diving into a plate of food hands-first, only noticing later that a spoon had been supplied.

But in the US – there’s a fine line between finger food and fork food. Like chicken: there’s chicken you can eat with your fingers (fried) and chicken you cannot (the Sunday roast). I’m pretty sure I’ll cross that fine line at least once. I just hope it doesn’t happen in a restaurant.

What will probably happen in a restaurant is insisting to the waiter that he bring filtered water – because who in the world drinks straight from the tap?

I try not to add to this list with too much anxiety, preferring to think of these as future opportunities to laugh at myself. (It’s keeping my need for nighttime sleep aids to a minimum.)

Lists for my Western home aren’t the only lists in my Excel spreadsheets folder. On the advice of some very good mentors and thanks to plane tickets actually being cheaper if bought separately for different chunks of the journey – I’m taking an “extended layover” in London. A week to remind myself about some of the Western world’s customs and detox from the emotional goodbyes I’ll say here in South Asia. I’ve got a whole Excel spreadsheet devoted to the information I need to find historical places like Buckingham Palace and the Tower of London

With this preparation comes my first reminder of what life in the West is like – you can actually find ticket prices and make advance reservations online! That’s a big change from the South Asian ritual of learning information for local attractions from your friend’s neighbor’s uncle’s grandson who went there two years ago with a group from school! My inner planner is re-awakening in the delight of having things nailed down more than two hours before the event. *squeal!*

As of today, I’m two weeks away from touchdown in London. Expect frequent updates of my adventures. In the meantime, have you ever been to London? (Or have a neighbor whose uncle’s grandson has been?) Any recommendations on where to go or what to see?